A ghost hare
of mist and sparkle
dances at the edge of sight.
Here and gone;
it's prints sketched,
dot dash,
dot dot dash,
across the blank page
of a winter's meadow.



Moose are on the move.
They've departed
their swampy winter haunts
to travel
the southern side
of our mountain,
into the abandoned blueberry field,
nibbling soft ends of young hemlock,
browsing on maple stems
sweet with spring sap.

I follow deep cloven tracks
to a sheltered napping spot,
the moose's body
imprinted in the snow.
I curl up into the form,
amidst shed hairs
and frozen droppings,
and dream I am moose.




Sally Cornwell is a potter and naturalist educator living in rural N.H. Her life long excursions into the north country woods permeates her art and writing.